The Lighthouse at Black Hollow
The Lighthouse at Black Hollow The storm came in without warning.
One moment the sea beyond Black Hollow was silver and calm, and the next it was a heaving wall of iron-gray waves crashing against the cliffs. Wind screamed through the narrow streets, slamming shutters and rattling doors like impatient fists.
Sixteen-year-old Mara Ellison stood at her bedroom window, heart pounding—not from the thunder, but from the light.
It had flashed three times.
Not lightning.
The lighthouse.
The old lighthouse had been dark for years.